pushed it aside, little realizing that all those around him knew that when he was lost in thought his right hand would drift over to hold the rounded stump.
He looked back to Hans and smiled weakly.
Though Hans was commander of the Suzdalian army, like him the sergeant major still wore the insignia of his old rank on the threadbare blue jacket, hidden now under a cracked and aging poncho. Hans had been with him since the beginning, shepherding him along, teaching him the business of command and killing, and then stepping back to see the ma n he had created forge a new nation and offer a hope of liberation from the suzerainty of the hordes.
I just needed some air, Hans," he finally said, breaking the silence. "I'll get back inside in a couple of minutes."
Hans sniffed the wind, like an old dog trying to pick up a scent.
Hacking around to southwest, it'll be rain soon, most likely warm up a lot by the end of the day."
"The last snow of the season, I expect," Andrew replied absently.
The storm had come on hard the afternoon before, catching everyone by surprise, burying the first pale green hints of spring and blanketing the world with a thick swirl of heavy wet snow. He wished it had gone on forever, covering everything in a blanket so deep that neither man nor horse could move. Every extra day gave them just that much more time to prepare. But it was already what he would have considered to be mid-April back in Maine . This storm would most likely be the last of it. Within the month the steppe would be knee-deep in grass. It was most likely green already on the other side of the Shenandoah Hills fifty miles to the south, which was the forward picket line, beyond which was the realm of the Merki.
The ice on the Potomac had broken two weeks ago. He could hear the river rushing by, thick and heavy with the muddy runoff of spring. A hundred yards down the slope the water was lapping at the edge of the forward rifle pits, rushing over the rocky bottom of the ford. He could imagine the position— heavens knows, he had spent enough months looking at it. This was the first ford, forty miles up from the sea, the river running broad and deep from he down to the sea.
Yet all that line had to be held as well, thou thinly manned at the moment. The river was full shoals, which made the maneuvering of ironcla impossible except at the mouth. Leave it empty and they could get across—there were reports they had built hundreds of lightweight boats which could used for pontoon bridges. Forty miles of trench and bastions had to be constructed along that sector straight down to the sea.
To his right, for another sixty-five miles up in the forest, there were a dozen more fords, each faced with heavy fortifications, in places three lines deep. By midsummer, though, the situation wou change, unless it poured every day, something th he had prayed for nearly every night. When the river dropped, becoming a muddy stream duri the dry summer, the entire line nearly down to t sea could be crossed. But by then there would three more corps ready for action, while at the same time the Horde would be forced to disperse across a wide area to feed their mounts when the summer grasses thinned out.
We'll still have the rails and they won't, thought, as if seeking an inner reassurance; the rails are our only hope in this. He could draw the line his mind, going out of Suzdal, up to the Neiper Ford, down the west shore of the river and leavil the woods after thirty miles at Wilderness Stati< and coming straight down to here. The line th forked, running parallel to the river down to t sea, and in the opposite direction running northw along the river up to Bastion 110 set nearly ten mi back into the woods. At Bastion 100 another rail line ran straight back east along the edge of the woods for ten miles, and then turned up the broad trail, the path used by the Tugars all the way to the Neiper Ford. It was a vast circle of rail, over three hundred miles of
He looked back to Hans and smiled weakly.
Though Hans was commander of the Suzdalian army, like him the sergeant major still wore the insignia of his old rank on the threadbare blue jacket, hidden now under a cracked and aging poncho. Hans had been with him since the beginning, shepherding him along, teaching him the business of command and killing, and then stepping back to see the ma n he had created forge a new nation and offer a hope of liberation from the suzerainty of the hordes.
I just needed some air, Hans," he finally said, breaking the silence. "I'll get back inside in a couple of minutes."
Hans sniffed the wind, like an old dog trying to pick up a scent.
Hacking around to southwest, it'll be rain soon, most likely warm up a lot by the end of the day."
"The last snow of the season, I expect," Andrew replied absently.
The storm had come on hard the afternoon before, catching everyone by surprise, burying the first pale green hints of spring and blanketing the world with a thick swirl of heavy wet snow. He wished it had gone on forever, covering everything in a blanket so deep that neither man nor horse could move. Every extra day gave them just that much more time to prepare. But it was already what he would have considered to be mid-April back in Maine . This storm would most likely be the last of it. Within the month the steppe would be knee-deep in grass. It was most likely green already on the other side of the Shenandoah Hills fifty miles to the south, which was the forward picket line, beyond which was the realm of the Merki.
The ice on the Potomac had broken two weeks ago. He could hear the river rushing by, thick and heavy with the muddy runoff of spring. A hundred yards down the slope the water was lapping at the edge of the forward rifle pits, rushing over the rocky bottom of the ford. He could imagine the position— heavens knows, he had spent enough months looking at it. This was the first ford, forty miles up from the sea, the river running broad and deep from he down to the sea.
Yet all that line had to be held as well, thou thinly manned at the moment. The river was full shoals, which made the maneuvering of ironcla impossible except at the mouth. Leave it empty and they could get across—there were reports they had built hundreds of lightweight boats which could used for pontoon bridges. Forty miles of trench and bastions had to be constructed along that sector straight down to the sea.
To his right, for another sixty-five miles up in the forest, there were a dozen more fords, each faced with heavy fortifications, in places three lines deep. By midsummer, though, the situation wou change, unless it poured every day, something th he had prayed for nearly every night. When the river dropped, becoming a muddy stream duri the dry summer, the entire line nearly down to t sea could be crossed. But by then there would three more corps ready for action, while at the same time the Horde would be forced to disperse across a wide area to feed their mounts when the summer grasses thinned out.
We'll still have the rails and they won't, thought, as if seeking an inner reassurance; the rails are our only hope in this. He could draw the line his mind, going out of Suzdal, up to the Neiper Ford, down the west shore of the river and leavil the woods after thirty miles at Wilderness Stati< and coming straight down to here. The line th forked, running parallel to the river down to t sea, and in the opposite direction running northw along the river up to Bastion 110 set nearly ten mi back into the woods. At Bastion 100 another rail line ran straight back east along the edge of the woods for ten miles, and then turned up the broad trail, the path used by the Tugars all the way to the Neiper Ford. It was a vast circle of rail, over three hundred miles of
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